This is the culmination of 3.5 months of work. I started (re)watching Supernatural at the start of this year because I'd never seen seasons 7-15 and, well, it was time.

That casual spn watch turned into an extreme hyperfixation, which in turn morphed into the inescapable need to write spn fanfic. The result? Over 30k words, thousands more than I've written for any single story, and a rekindled love for a show I first saw almost 20 years ago.

Also a huge thanks to my friends who supported me while I wrote. It means the world to me~

This fic is also posted on AO3, where I've added a number of additional tags and it's only fair that I mention them here too. New tags will be added to later chapters. The tags: usual spn warnings, Kidnapping, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), takes place during Hibbing 911, spn-like swearing, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), The Impala (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, Canon Dialogue, Season/Series 10, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Bad Puns, Puns & Word Play, Tags Contain Spoilers.

Dean Winchester had never intended to live a long, fulfilling life. Had never wanted it, either. He was just so goddamn tired of it all, had been vocal about it too, and yet here he was, still kicking and breathing. He couldn't catch a break to save his life. It was exhausting.

Somewhere along the line, he decided it was better to be killed on the battlefield than waste away as an old man in diapers. He was a soldier, a grunt in the field, and those never lasted long. Dean had been way past his expiration date for years and somehow life still had other plans in store for him.

But when he looked in the mirror, he saw lines in his face that hadn't been there yesterday. His joints weren't as oiled as they used to be and he absolutely refused to look at, or even acknowledge, his arm, where the Mark was ever-present. The thing terrified him, knowing that the tiniest misstep could cause him to turn into a Knight of Hell again. That thought was even more terrifying than the time he spent in Hell, because Sam kept a close eye on him and Dean would rather die his final death than hurt a hair on his little brother's head.

Even after all this time, after all that had happened and despite all the research they had done up until this point, they knew too little about the Mark. They had to fix that sooner rather than later, find a way to learn more about it that wouldn't involve Dean dying. For now, though, he wished to have one good night's sleep. The situation was so bad Dean couldn't even remember the last time he didn't have nightmares about one thing or another. He had over seventy years of experience and guilt to dream about, so he had material aplenty. Such was the life of a hunter, he supposed. Or maybe his was just extra messed up.

Dean didn't hate mornings. Hell, he liked them. He loved the anticipation of an exciting new day, the possibility of killing monsters and the lack of people getting in his way if they were up early enough. The one condition he had for enjoying anything was coffee. Without coffee first thing in the morning, his day was preemptively ruined.

A knock on the door distracted him from his musings and what he did — or rather didn't — see in the mirror.

"Dean, you up?" Sam asked through the door. The man sounded like the word 'exhaustion' wasn't in his dictionary.

Dean checked his watch to see at what unholy hour Sam expected him to be up and running, never mind the fact that he also was awake, and cursed to himself. He really wished he could close his eyes for a dreamless few hours, preferably stretching it to a few centuries. Anything in between would work as well. Surely he deserved that after all he had been through. Alas, fate, though mostly Sam, had other plans.

"Dean?"

Dean sighed hearing the concern in Sam's voice and waved towards the door, forgetting that Sam couldn't see it. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here, I'm up." He tried not to sound as bone-deep exhausted as he felt, but only partially succeeded. When he opened the door, he was greeted by Sam, fully dressed and ready for the day to come.

"Morning, sunshine," Sam smiled at his disheveled appearance.

Dean rubbed the last sleep from his eyes and tugged at his robe's sash, making sure it stayed closed. "What's up?"

"I, uh, might have found us a new case." Sam almost looked apologetic. He still wasn't fully comfortable having Dean back in the field again and Dean honestly couldn't blame him. He had trouble trusting himself with anything these days. Then again, it always felt good to be doing something, anything, so maybe a case would be good for him.

"Shouldn't we be looking for Rowena?" Not that Dean was looking forward to that fruitless pursuit. They had only met the woman once and she already annoyed the crap out of him. God only knew how much worse it would get.

"If witches don't want to be found, they won't be found," Sam huffed in exasperation. "Besides, it's been weeks. I don't even know how to start looking for her if she doesn't leave bodies or massive hotel bills in her wake."

Dean couldn't argue with that so he acquiesced. Everything sounded exhausting and he yearned for oblivion so badly. Maybe he could chug a bottle of whiskey when Sam wasn't looking. "Where?" he asked, referring to the case.

Sam hesitated. "Holland, Michigan."

Dean took a moment to calculate the distance and how long it would take for them to get there. A twelve-hour drive? Sure, it could have been much worse, but this felt like some sort of punishment. The distance was too short to justify a break along the way, especially if they left soon, but too long to enjoy it if they drove straight there without breaks. His already too-long day was about to become much, much longer if they had a twelve-hour drive up ahead.

It felt weird to not immediately look forward to driving the Impala all day, but lately even driving felt like a drag. Dean could take a guess as to why that was.

"All right, you can tell me about it over breakfast." He pointed to Sam. "It's your turn to cook."

Sam snorted. "Sure. I'll whip something up."

Dean dismissed Sam by throwing the door in his face. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around," he yelled loud enough for his brother to hear.

"Yeah, because someone needs to clean up after you," Sam yelled back as he walked away, his voice echoing through the hallway.

That, at least, made Dean smile.

⁂

"Tell me about the case," Dean said through a mouth filled with pancakes that somehow tasted decently. Sam had definitely delivered.

Sam shot him an exasperated look but pushed a manila folder his way anyway. "Six kids have been going missing from their homes in the past few weeks. According to the reports, none of the locks or windows were forced and those who have alarms never had them go off."

Dean swallowed another bite. "So what are you thinking? A shtriga?"

"They don't kidnap children, just feed on their souls." Sam checked something on his laptop as Dean went over the info Sam had collected, still chewing on his breakfast.

After a minute of reading, Dean looked up. "You said six kids went missing, so why is this guy on the list?" He held up a picture for Sam to see.

Sam knew who he was talking about without looking up. "Trevor Stacy, seventeen years old. He disappeared right around the same time and thought he's technically still a minor, he's much older than the others. I'm not sure if he's involved or not. I added him to the list just in case."

Dean nodded. "So we have six missing kids and a missing Trevor. Why is this any of our concern?"

Sam shrugged. "We've acted on less."

"I mean, sure, but how do we know those kids didn't just run away?"

"Because how or why would a bunch of children run away without any of their parents noticing? Aside from Trevor, all the kids are under ten, they don't have the brain to Houdini themselves away. Unless," Sam's face darkened, "we've got a group of Jesses on our hands."

"God, I hope not," Dean winced. The kid never surfaced again after his disappearance five years ago and Dean wasn't equipped to deal with kids like him. He finished off his last pancake and got up, trusting Sam to clean up his crap. He agreed that this was worth checking out. "All right then, we leave in ten."

"All right," Sam echoed, closing his laptop and gathering the scattered paper.

As Dean left the kitchen to pack his stuff, he sent a silent prayer to Cas, hoping he would be able to keep his killer alter ego at bay during this case. He was not in the letting-children-die or accidentally-killing-children-mood today.

Dean tried to find his happy place on the road to Holland. Driving the Impala had always soothed him before and even now, with the Mark never not on his mind, it wasn't any different. It was a beautiful day with minimal traffic and he really couldn't wish for any better circumstances. Except.

He was forcing himself to enjoy the moment with heart and soul, so he didn't notice Sam receiving a phone call until he started speaking.

"No way," Sam laughed. He answered the call. "Jody. How's it going?"

Dean looked at him in surprise. He couldn't remember the last time they had spoken with her. It felt like it had been years.

Sam listened to something Jody said. "Wow, sounds like a blast."

Dean heard the obvious lie in Sam's voice and knew Jody well enough to know she probably would rather be anywhere else than where she was right now. Dean sympathized with her. He waved at Sam to send her his regards.

"Uh, Dean says hi," Sam mailmanned for him. He was quiet for a few seconds before he apologized. "Uh, right, sorry about that." And after another few seconds, he added "Good. Good. Yeah, you know." He looked over at Dean. "You know what, hold on a sec, I'm gonna put you on speaker."

Dean rolled his eyes. Finally.

Sam pressed a button on his touchscreen and put his phone between them on the dashboard.

"Hey, Jody. How's Alex holding up?" Dean asked, aiming his face toward the phone without taking his eyes off the road.

"Awesome. Already head of the cheerleading squad." Hearing Jody's voice was an instant mood-improver.

The brothers shared a surprised look. "Wow, really?" Sam asked.

"No. Sam, she smokes grass under the bleachers," Jody deadpanned in return. "But at least she's not luring men to their deaths."

Sam laughed awkwardly. "Right."

Before things turned really awkward, Jody thankfully changed the subject. "Listen, this may not be your thing, but a body was found here this morning and something had gone to chow town on it."

It wouldn't hurt to start with a basic question. "Uh, was the throat ripped out?"

"Worse. I'm hearing that all the flesh had been eaten down to the bones. Any ideas?"

It was easier to say what it wasn't than what it was. "Well, it's not a vampire," Dean offered. From the sounds of it, this wasn't their MO.

"Yeah, I don't know, Jody. I got nothing." Sam was equally unhelpful. What great hunters they were. Dean grimaced internally.

Still, he wanted to keep the few friends they had left very much alive. "Jody, uhm, we could head that way. Wouldn't be any trouble at all." She didn't have to know they were already on a case and were getting further away from Sioux Falls with each passing second. They would turn around without a second thought if she asked.

"Nah, it's okay, I can handle it," Jody brushed him off easily, but then promised, "I'll call if it gets to be something I can't."

"All right. Well, uh, enjoy the retreat." Sam sounded about as convinced as Dean felt that she could handle it. It wasn't that they didn't trust her, on the contrary actually, but he felt better if she had them to back her up. Then again, every time he worked a case alone it had felt wrong, so he might be biased.

"Screw you, Winchester," Jody chided Sam, because of course she picked up on that, but they could hear her smiling through the phone.

Sam chuckled in response. "Talk soon," he said before hanging up.

"Do you think she can? Handle it, I mean." Dean asked Sam after he had put his phone away.

Sam threw him a disapproving look. Unlike Dean, Sam trusted Jody to judge when things would get out of hand. "Jody said she was on top of it, Dean. If she says she can handle it, who are we to question her?"

Dean wanted to argue that they both had a lifetime's worth of experience more than Jody did, but didn't voice his doubts. She was on a case now, and they had their own case to worry about. Maybe if they solved theirs fast, they could team up with Jody and help her out anyway. Perhaps they would even get a home-cooked meal out of it. That counted as a win-win in his book.

"What did you mean with 'retreat', anyway? Like a spa?" He asked instead. He wouldn't have guessed Jody was a spa girlie, but they all had their dirty secrets and guilty pleasures.

Sam burst that bubble for him. "Jody is at a sheriff's retreat in Hibbing, Minnesota."

A different sort of retreat indeed made more sense. "Ah, that explains why she sounded so dead inside. Now that's an unending dick-measuring contest I never want to be a part of."

"Yeah," Sam laughed. "She'll be all right."

Dean glanced over at Sam and saw him confidently looking back. "She damn better be."

⁂

Several hours into the drive, Dean was getting seriously antsy. The drive's soothing feeling hadn't lasted long and he couldn't stop fidgeting. The Mark itched and Dean knew it wasn't something he could scratch away. With his luck, it wouldn't even stop if he chopped the whole damn arm off. He needed to kill something and he needed to do it now. Unfortunately for him, there was nothing in his vicinity he could shoot or stab or torch or maim, other than Sam's patience. It was an easy choice.

"Hey, Sammy."

Sam looked up from his phone. "What is it?"

Dean put on his best Vin Diesel voice and face. "They say an open road helps you think. About where you've been, and where you're going."

Sam smacked his arm but laughed. "Dude, I didn't know you were into those movies."

Dean's smoldering look quickly returned to normal. "I'm not!" he tried to protest, but his objection fell on deaf ears.

"Then why do you know that line, hm?" Sam gave him his best accusatory glare.

"You know it, too! Maybe you are the fan." Dean betted on his best defense being on the offense. They both clung to these forced moments of normalcy with all they had.

Sam threw up his hands in exasperation. "Okay, I'll admit I've seen them. They're on Netflix," he shrugged.

"Dude, come on, at least have some standards." Egging Sam on was in Dean's top five favorite hobbies on a normal day, and right now it was even better.

"Speak for yourself. You liked, what was it called again, Sands? And Blade Runner."

"You know it's called Dune." Sam's tone carried a hint of anger. "They're both classics."

"Yeah, classical nonsense," Dean muttered under his breath.

Sam raised his eyebrows and leaned in closer. "Sorry, what was that?"

It was less funny when Sam got on Dean's case. "Oh, forget it."

Sam's face lit up in victory. Dean secretly cherished the sight.

They remained silent for a mile.

Sam turned to Dean. "I always thought you'd watch the movies because of the cars in them."

Dean couldn't believe his ears. "It's not about the cars, it's just too damn unrealistic."

"Unrealistic? Those movies are unrealistic?" Sam huffed. "Then what about our lives? People who know nothing about the supernatural would say our lives are unrealistic."

Dean hated that comparison with a passion. "It's not the same," he grumbled.

"Sure, it's not."

Dean was seconds away from beating that shit-eating grin off Sam's face. "Shut up. Go back to your Mark of Cain research or something," he said in half-earnest exasperation.

That sobered the both of them up instantly. Dean cursed at himself ruining the nice moment they had going. How Sam had put up with him for so long, he had no idea.

"Yeah," Sam sighed. There was nothing left of the joy he had shown seconds before. "Yeah, I'll do that."

Dean eyed the motel room they were standing in and what would be their home for the next couple of nights. "You know, for once, I'd like to stay in a nice motel. One where they actually wash the sheets."

Sam, coming in behind him, pulled a face. "Dude, gross. Besides, you're the one who drove us here. Or are you getting so old you've started to forget, hm?" he asked as he threw his duffel bag on his bed.

Dean didn't bother coming up with a retort, glad that their near-argument was already forgotten. Instead, he threw his duffel on the other bed and lay down next to it. "They're not the worst beds we've used."

Sam sat down on his, testing the springs. "Silver linings, I guess."

Dean sat upright. "So, what's our game plan?" He motioned for Sam to hand over the files again, who dutifully obeyed. Dean leafed through them and noticed something he hadn't noticed that morning. He snorted. "Dude."

Sam looked up from his phone with a frown.

Dean read the profile again and then a third time, just to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. Before Sam could put his worry hat on, Dean met his eyes.

"What is it?" Sam asked with a frown.

"How well have you looked at this?"

Sam's curious frown turned into a confused one. "Uh, depends on what you're asking, but pretty well, I guess." He said it almost like a question.

Dean breathed a laugh. "Yeah, well, one of the kids has a very interesting name." He grabbed the profile on top of the pile and practically shoved it in Sam's face.

Sam took a second to read it and laughed. "No, I hadn't noticed that yet. We should tell him, though."

"Even better, we should introduce them to each other," Dean grinned. "That should be fun."

"Yeah." Sam smiled at the poor kid's name. "Yeah, we should. All the more reason to find those kids, right?"

Dean's grin faded. It was always worse when they couldn't save a kid, let alone a cluster of them. "Yeah, you're right. So who are we gonna pay a visit first, hm?"

Sam grabbed the stack from Dean and put them in a specific order before handing them back. "I suggest we investigate the most recent kidnapping first and then work our way backward."

It made sense, so Dean nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

"Oh, and we have an appointment with a Captain Watson at noon at the police station, so if we start early we could get a few house calls out of the way before then."

Dean threw Sam a half-serious stink eye. They both knew Dean was not a morning person before he had his piping hot coffee. After that first sip he was at least tolerable, but getting coffee at unholy o'clock was usually a pain in his ass.

Sam, who knew him better than anyone else on this godforsaken Earth, didn't give in. "I made new badges yesterday, so don't get confused about your name again."

"That was one time," Dean scowled at the mention of his single blunder, now many years ago. Of course Sam wouldn't ever let him forget it, 'that's what brothers are for' and all that crap.

"You were lucky that old lady was a thousand years old and as deaf as a doorpost."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean waved him away, "I'll be fine."

Sam unpacked his suit and hung it to prevent it from wrinkling any further. "And if you're not, we'll know for sure to book you that doctor's appointment, hm?"

Dean responded by throwing a random receipt at his brother's face. It landed not even two feet away and Dean concluded that today was absolutely not his day.

Sam took this win in stride and occupied himself with his laptop, probably doing either Mark of Cain research or researching this current monster. Dean didn't want to know and stayed far away from it.

Thank you for reading! I hope you'll tune in for the rest of the story.

I'm going to add some trivia to the last chapter for funsies, so please look forward to that :]

If you want to talk spn with me, you can find me on Tumblr as losechestergospel!